


Last Flight

by Good_Morning_And_Good_Night



Series: Microtubules: What Brings Things Together [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Bomb, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 11:22:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5965483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Good_Morning_And_Good_Night/pseuds/Good_Morning_And_Good_Night
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hope makes a man unaware to manipulations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Flight

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or realities (unless otherwise stated). I do not make money off of this.
> 
> These characters are mine, if you wish to use them, tell me first and I'll reply and we'll all be happy.
> 
> This is not betaed. If you see any mistakes, I would love for you to kindly point them out.

It was morning where Jack came from and afternoon where he was going. And it was  nighttime where the plane was headed. Or would have been headed, had he not been on the plane. And had he not been on this plane, some other, more morally inclined person would have been sitting in his seat, one that had refused to down it with a bomb so that his starving children and wife would have a couple grand to their name.

The men who put him up to it had simple demands. Make sure that the plane crashed somewhere - it didn’t matter where, takeoff, landing, taxi, flight - and the money would be sent to his family as soon as the crash hit newspapers. And it would, if only a small section off to the side. The men paid for all the expenses, and Jack had to use all of his theater practice not to freak out at all the luxuries he had been provided. When he got on the plane he immediately asked for a glass of champagne, just to prove that he wasn't dreaming.

He wasn't.

And that made it scarier because that meant that the bomb in his bag was real and that he really would become a terrorist just to keep his family fed. And it was scary. Because he wasn't even sure if the money would actually be sent to his family, and his beautiful wife with her luminous black hair. He looked into his bag for the heck of it, even though he knew how much time was left on the clock. Three entire minutes.

And the fact that nobody else knew about it made his mouth want to shout it all out to the others, so that maybe they could help defuse it, maybe, maybe, maybe. He looked up around at the people, looking on to a woman with short blond hair reading a book on mechanical engineering. Maybe her? But then his family wouldn’t get the money. His eyes skimmed the rest of the people in first class, but there weren’t a lot. A fat man with ginger hair, a seemingly anorexic woman with purple stripes in her apple red hair. They wouldn’t live to see another day.

Nobody seemed capable of defusing bombs, either. He decided to splurge a little before his death, now that the reality of the  _ two minutes and fifty seconds _ hit him.

Glass of horribly expensive wine? Check. Plate of horribly expensive food? Check. Enough money off of the credit card he had been given to warrant several decades of debt? Check. Everything confirmed, Jack laid back in his chair, munching on truffles and sipping on red wine that swirled like blood in his glass.  _ Twenty five seconds _ . A sip. A splash of red in his mouth. A small memory of when he had pretended to be a vampire and drank the grape juice his mom gave him like it was wine. He wished his wife was here, to share with him.

_ Twenty seconds _ . The chocolate truffle in his mouth exploded, soaking his taste buds in joyous wonder at how these kinds of things could happen. His seat had been strategically placed above a major engine along with the backup for another and all he had to do was think up of a quick clever way to get the bomb on board. He did, in the end, but he doesn't want anyone to know how. He doesn't want this kind of thing to happen again. His criminal record would die with him. His stomach warbled at the foreign amount of food in his stomach. He wasn’t used to eating more than once a day.

_ Ten seconds. _ His children weren't going to starve anymore. His eldest would be just old enough to get a job in a few months, and the money he would get would tide them over from there. It would be enough for everyone. His wife could live longer and further and he knew he would die happy. Happy that he saved her shining green eyes.

_ Five. _ The clouds out the window looked like trains.  _ Four _ . There were even clouds train tracks along the way, all straight and proud and lovely, parallel lines into space.  _ Three _ . They kept going thinning out every now and then as the plane went through some places with less cloud cover.  _ Two. _ But they did get thicker after they got thinner, and Jack’s heart lifted for the clouds he would never see again after the next second.  _ One. _ And suddenly the plane shot out of the cloud cover.

The train was gone, along with its tracks. 

In the calm before the storm, Jack could hear the champagne glass clatter to the floor like the plastic flute it was. He wished the truffles would shake with impending doom, but bombs are sudden, sudden like gambling and debt...

_ No. _


End file.
